


None So Blind

by awarrington



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, First Time, M/M, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/pseuds/awarrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored on an obbo of a suspected IRA terrorist, Doyle decides to liven things up. Things go pear-shaped between them, and then so does their assignment. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published in 1998 in the award-winning multi-media slash fanzine _Nothing to Hide_.
> 
> I've uploaded this unedited - apologies for the quality of my writing from back then.

Bodie was not a happy bunny.

It wasn't because Cowley had suddenly called his best team in while on one of their nights off -- he'd done that plenty of times before. It wasn't even because it was a weekend. What really got his goat was that he'd been out on a double date with Ray and was certain his latest girlfriend, Linda, was about to come across. As he'd been working on her for weeks, frustrated didn't even begin to describe how he was feeling at that moment.

To make matters worse, the place they were in now was a complete dump. For some reason, CI5 had an unerring ability to find the tattiest, most run-down places from which to run obbos. He supposed it was because anyone with a nice place wouldn't let a load of CI5 agents have a free run of it and he could see their point. Not everyone on the squad was what you might called house-trained. They'd given the occupant of the bedsit they were now in two hundred quid to make himself scarce for a week, no questions asked.

The room they were in was one of eleven bedsits in a tall Victorian terraced house and it was obvious the building had seen better days before it had been carved up into little units. They were on the top floor under the rafters, the ceilings sloping, and rather than cosy, it gave the place a cramped, closed-in feel. To cover up the uneven plasterwork, the walls were covered in a horrible flowery anaglypta wall-paper which someone Bodie decided had no sense of colour, had painted mustard yellow. Over the years, smoking occupants had turned the once-white woodchip paper on the ceiling almost the same shade. The sparse furniture included a single bed, a battered-looking wardrobe with drawers which had been tarted up - not very successfully - with a coat of white gloss. In the middle of the room stood a dirty, stained armchair that Bodie and taken one look and decided he was not going to sit in, and against the far wall hung an old, cracked basin next to a small chest of drawers, on top of which stood a two-ring gas-cooker which ran off a meter. The Hilton it was not.

The reason they were there was because Cowley had been tipped off that evening that there was an active IRA bomb-making factory in north London. Not only that, but they were planning to plant a device somewhere in the centre of town in the next couple of days. Trouble was, all the CI5 Controller knew was that the factory could have been one of three different locations, so he'd been forced to spread his agents thin. 

This location was deemed the most probable, so Cowley had ordered Stewart and Murphy to observe from their car, while he and Doyle stood watch from a room in the house opposite. Bodie supposed he ought to feel grateful the old bastard had given the other two the short straw, having to sit outside in the freezing weather they'd been experiencing of late.

It was Bodie's turn on observation, sitting at a small dormer which, much to his irritation, the sash window no longer fitted into. Bits of newspaper had been bunged into the gaps in a vain attempt to keep out the cold, but a draught still found its way around the frame. The paintwork was peeling, its condition speeded up by Bodie, who found great gratification in pulling away strips of it, the longer, the more satisfying. Next to him stood a tripod with a camera, its lens focused, like an unblinking eye, on the house opposite. The building they were watching was more squat -- shorter and wider -- than the one they were in, its dark windows a reasonable indication that no-one was at home. Behind him, apparently willing to make use of the disgusting armchair, Doyle sat reading the newspaper he'd thought to bring with him.

Sitting there, staring forlornly out of the window, he recalled the exact moment when the phone had rung. They'd had quite a lot to drink by the time they'd got back to his flat. The lights were down low, some nice music was playing on the hi-fi, Doyle and Marie were on one sofa, he and Linda on the other.

He'd been impressed at how quickly the other two had got down to the seriously heavy petting stage. Apparently Marie didn't mind the fact that others were in the room too and Ray certainly didn't. Marie had got his prick out and was pumping it -- he'd never seen Doyle erect before and had noticed he wasn't a bad size for such a little runt.

Linda seemed to have taken Marie's lead and he'd managed for the first time to get his hand down her knickers, teasing her clit and fingering her until she was wet and panting. The memory of what they'd been doing made his balls ache and his prick start to harden. Shit, he thought, rubbing himself unconsciously, why was he torturing himself?

"Got a problem there mate?" Doyle's voice cut into his reverie.

"Eh?"

"Wishin' Linda was here?" his partner asked, giving his crotch a knowing look.

"Yeah, Cowley's timing's fucking lousy."

"Why don't you do somethin' about it? Get it out of your system."

Bodie winced. "Did you see the state of that toilet on the landing? I'm only going in there when I absolutely have to."

Doyle leant forward. "So, do it here," he said quietly.

"Nah, I'm not that desperate."

"I am," Doyle confessed.

Bodie looked at his partner's crotch and sure enough, the outline of his erect cock could clearly be seen. "What're you suggesting, Ray?"

"It won't be so bad if we're both doin' it, will it?"

Bodie glanced at his partner to see if he was winding him up, but the look on Doyle's face told him he was being perfectly serious.

"Nah, it'll wait." In truth, even now when he was less than sober, he felt too self-conscious doing something like that in front of Ray, even if he was doing it too. "Besides, won't be able to do that and watch the house at the same time."

"I'll do it for you."

He felt his cock jump at the words. In fright? He assumed so.

"You off your rocker? Not going queer for me, are you?" Bodie blustered.

"Look, we've been together three years and in that time we've got drunk together when one of us needed to drown his sorrows and held each other's heads while the other's puked, we've shared food off the same plate, drunk from the same cups an' glasses, shared beds -- as far as I'm concerned, it's just one more thing….it's no big deal."

Put like that, it did sound quite reasonable. It was true they practically lived in each other's pockets -- like tonight, on a night off, they still chose to spend their free time together. The way things had been going, he doubted either couple would have bothered seeking a bedroom before getting down to business. They were completely at ease with one another.

Doyle seemed to sense his wavering resolve. "Would it help if I turned out the light?" he asked, scooting forward to sit on the edge of the chair.

"No…I…" A very small voice was telling him this was not a good idea, that they were on duty. He listened to it. "Look, it's too risky. What if I miss something important?"

Doyle cocked his head to one side. "Stuart and Murph will let us know on the R/T, won't they?"

True. His cock was still achingly hard. He could go down to the toilet and finish himself off while Doyle took the watch…but the thought of the toilet put him right off. It had looked totally disgusting and he dreaded to think when it had last been bleached or cleaned.

"OK," Bodie said, hardly believing he was going through with this. "But I'm going to carry on watching, just in case."

"Right," said Doyle, standing up.

Bodie's heart was pounding. Like Ray said, he thought to himself, it's no big deal. Before he could have another thought, Doyle was behind him, leaning around to undo his belt, then the button on the waist of his trousers. He felt the heat from Doyle's body and his heart began to pound. His trouser zip was pulled down, his partner's hand snaking inside his underpants. The only point of contact between them was when Doyle gripped hold of his cock and it was all he could do to stop himself from jumping at the intimate contact. It felt good. Bloody marvellous, in fact. He wanted to lean back against Doyle, but fought against it.

It shouldn't have surprised him that being a bloke, Ray knew exactly how to hold him, how much pressure to exert, how to work his prick. He tried to concentrate on the house opposite.

Doyle muttered something and took his hand away -- it was a moment before he realised the whimper he heard had come from him.

"Want to get more comfortable and make it nicer for you," Doyle explained quietly.

Bodie continued to stare out of the window, trying to concentrate on the house. When he felt Doyle take him into his mouth he pulled away abruptly. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded to know, shocked by his partner's actions.

"What does it look like? It's better this way."

"But…"

"Just enjoy it Bodie."

A moment later and he was engulfed in the hot wetness of Doyle's mouth. Doyle's mouth! He must be going stark raving mad, but the sensations Doyle was weaving were fantastic -- it had to be the best blow-job he'd ever had. He snaked a hand into Doyle's hair, encouraging the actions, his own hips beginning to thrust.

"Ray…Ray…" he whispered the litany.

He was close, so close. He wanted to look out the window, but instead closed his eyes to better concentrate on the mouth weaving its magic on him, the tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his cock, sucking the head. He needed to see this so glanced down and watched the amazing sight of his cock thrusting into Ray's mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked. The sight pushed him over the edge, coming hard as Doyle siphoned every drop from him… He closed his eyes in bliss.

Doyle continued to hold him in his hand as the sensations faded and when he heard a groan, he glanced down. Ray was pumping himself and coming, and for a moment Bodie stared in fascination as several jets of semen spurted upward from Doyle's cock. Then realisation dawned -- Doyle was getting off on him.

Bodie saw red. "You bastard," he shouted at him. "Get off me." He pulled away whilst shoving himself back into his underpants and doing the trouser zip up.

Doyle looked startled. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? You're what's wrong. Didn't realise you were a fucking raving queen." He felt disgusted, dirty. The job, he suddenly remembered, and angrily returned to the window.

"I don't understand…" Doyle said quietly behind him.

"Yeah, well I fucking do. This wasn't about two frustrated blokes needing a wank, was it? It was about you coming on to me. You were turned on sucking me, weren't you?" he accused his partner.

"What difference does that make?" Doyle asked, answering, yet not answering the question.

"Makes all the difference in the world, mate. We weren't exactly singing from the same hymn book, were we?"

Behind him, his partner went silent. He didn't look around to find out what Doyle was doing, and instead focussed on the house opposite. Shit, his window had steamed up and he hadn't noticed. Using a piece of the stained net curtain that hung limply over the window, he wiped in a circular motion to clear the condensation, the action making little squeaking noises and leaving a wet smear behind. Apparently nylon nets weren't very absorbent.

Because it was bitterly cold outside, they were using the gas cooker as a heater and had discovered the hard way that it tended to create a lot of condensation; not only that, but it seemed to make little difference to the arctic temperature of the room. He doubted very much the house had any loft insulation.

He still couldn't believe Doyle had done that to him. He must have been insane accepting his offer in the first place, but for Ray to offer it under false pretences… And then there was the not insignificant detail that Ray had hidden from him all this time: the fact that he was queer. Where was the trust they'd so carefully built in their partnership now? In bloody tatters, that's where.

Ray…queer. It just didn't add up though. He certainly hadn't been faking it earlier that evening with Marie. So, he swung both ways then. But when had he had time to go with blokes? He could hardly remember an occasion when Ray wasn't seeing some bird or other. He had to know…

"You're bisexual," he stated flatly.

Doyle didn't reply immediately and the silence seemed to stretch out between them like a thread drawing taut, approaching its tensile limit. But before it could snap, he quietly said, "Yes."

Well, at least Ray was admitting it, not that it made him feel any more comfortable. "And you fancy me?" He wondered where that question had popped up from -- he hadn't meant to ask it.

"Does it matter?"

Bloody hell -- what kind of a stupid question was that? "Yes it does fucking matter."

"I thought you felt the same way about me but didn't know what to do about it," came Doyle's unexpected answer.

Bodie spun around and glared at his partner, his mouth a thin line. "Well you're wrong. Totally."

"I don't think I am," Doyle replied.

He'd seen Ray stand like that many a time, seen that defiant expression on his face. Only it was usually Cowley it was aimed at, not him. The words Doyle had just uttered sunk in. He doesn't think… "What the fuck do you know? I've never touched another man -- or had one touch me." He turned resolutely back to the window.

"Until now?"

"You tricked me." It sounded lame and he knew it -- after all, he could have refused. But he hadn't. He'd let Ray talk him into it. Now he was being backed into a corner he wasn't sure he knew how to fight his way out of. "And where did you get the idea I might be queer?" Hah, that'd get him. He was renown amongst the squad for pulling birds faster than anyone. He turned resolutely back to the window, glad to see there were still no lights on in any of the windows of the house they were monitoring. They'd really be up shit creek if he missed them arriving.

"For starters, you were watchin' me tonight," Doyle replied. "Couldn't take your eyes off my prick."

"I…" Shit. It might be true, but not for the reasons Doyle thought. "It wasn't because I fancy you. It's just a bloke thing -- comparing and stuff."

"Comparing? How many times do you need to look to make a comparison? Once, maybe twice? So why did you keep on lookin' at me? Eh Bodie? Tell me that."

There was a definite sneer in Doyle's voice, which he didn't like one bit. "I didn't," he protested vehemently, absolutely certain he'd just glanced across the once.

"So why was it every time I looked across the room, your eyes were on me?" Doyle demanded to know, his voice raised in anger. "You already know what my excuse is for watchin' you. What's yours? Eh Bodie? Tell me that."

"You're just putting your own interpretation on it, because it's what you want to believe," Bodie replied more quietly. "And, you're wrong."

"Why are you always touchin' me up, then?"

Doyle's ability to throw curved balls seemed unerring. "What are you on about?" Bodie asked, completely nonplussed.

"You. Can't keep your hands off me. Any chance you get, feelin' my bum up whenever you're behind me on the stairs, you're always goosin' me, an' when we have shared a bed, you're all over me in your sleep. You ought to start lookin' a bit deeper than your conscious mind, mate. You'll find the truth hidden behind all the smoke screens you've thrown up to preserve that macho image you've got of yourself."

Bodie stared at the window, following the course of a water droplet as it trickled down the pane, carving a path through the condensation which added to it, increasing its size and as it did so, its momentum. In the course of their discussion Bodie's anger, like the droplet, had grown, gaining depth and breadth. Now, he felt furious with Doyle and all that had occurred since they'd been in this godforsaken room. To add to his anger, he felt a sense of frustration that anything he tried to say in his defence had so far sounded like excuses. Thus, he was forced to remain silent. On the one hand, he refused to believe Doyle's accusations, but on the other hand, he couldn't think of any concrete answers to prove his innocence.

"I've spent the last three years," Doyle continued, "fightin' my feelings for you, an' I finally gave in tonight. Yeah, it was probably a mistake, but I've run out of willpower. Don't want to live a lie any more. When this op's over, I'll ask Cowley for a new partner. If he refuses, I'll resign. I can't take any more, Bodie."

Through the haze of his own feelings, Bodie could hear Doyle sounded utterly defeated. He should have felt relieved that his partner was at least going to do the decent thing, but the fact that Doyle had just destroyed a perfectly good partnership merely added more fuel to his burning anger. He'd been happy with it -- more than happy. And he knew he'd never get another partner as good as Ray.

One word seemed to ricochet around his head. What had Doyle meant when he'd said… "Feelings?" The word was said aloud, although he was unaware of it.

"Realised a long time ago," Doyle almost whispered, "that I'm in love with you."

The bastard! Bodie thought. The selfish, rotten little bastard. Why? Why do this to him? Inflict this on him? He did not need to know this. Doyle, in love with him? The idea would have been shouted down as totally ludicrous if anyone had told him of it. He couldn't believe it and the news had come from Doyle himself. He really needed time and space to think. Ray's timing on this was piss-fucking-poor, as far as he was concerned.

"Take over," he said, shoving the binoculars at Doyle. "I'm going out for some air." At the surprised look he received, he added quickly, "Not going far, and I'll take the R/T in case I'm needed."

Outside the front door, he paused a moment to pull his collar up high against the cold and shove his hands as deep into the pockets of his bomber jacket as they would go. Turning onto the street he passed the other surveillance team and nodded to a surprised Murph before heading off down the road at a brisk pace.

Only in Britain could it feel like arctic conditions when the temperature wasn't actually much below freezing. It was the clammy, wet atmosphere that did it; that and the biting wind which was probably blowing unhampered straight off of Siberia.

Putting distance between himself and Doyle helped Bodie calm down. Anger and resentment still warred, together with a sense of betrayal. After a while, he allowed himself to think about the events of that evening. Why couldn't Ray have just said something instead of doing what he did? At least he'd have had a chance to say no. His partner was lucky he hadn't just belted him -- he certainly bloody well deserved it.

He couldn't now believe what had happened between them -- couldn't believe he'd let his partner do that to him. The recollection of seeing the curly head bent before him, Ray's mouth doing magical things to his cock. God, it seemed like some strange dream. And to do it while on duty too. Bloody hell, what were they thinking about? He blamed it all on their booze-addled brains. Even now, though he felt fairly sober, he knew he was not. Since it was a night off, they'd put a lot away that evening. It was a risk they took since technically they were on call at all times except when on leave and even then, Cowley had been known to call them back. What did the man expect? They couldn't live like monks on the off-chance some crisis would happen while they were off duty.

He stopped in his tracks, suddenly aware that his brisk walk was taking him a long way from the house. Better head back, he decided and turning, slowly began his return.

Doyle, in love with him. God -- what was he supposed to do with that information? It was the last thing he would have guessed from his partner and the last thing he wanted. On the odd occasions he'd discovered a bloke fancied him, being around the bloke in question always left him feeling slightly uncomfortable. But finding out on this occasion that the bloke was his partner and it wasn't that he just fancied him, he was in love with him left him flabbergasted.

The trouble was that their jobs meant they all but lived together. As Ray had said earlier, they had long shared a casual intimacy. But as far as Bodie was concerned, they could never go back to it. In fact he couldn't imagine that he'd feel completely comfortable in Doyle's company ever again, knowing Ray was pining after him, lusting after his body. Doyle had broken up their partnership. And that fact left him feeling bloody furious.

In the time they'd been together, they'd learnt how to anticipate each other, to guess what the other was thinking at crucial times, to automatically watch out for each other, to trust each other…

Trust. He thought they'd had that. But Ray had let him down.

On a number of occasions in his various careers he'd worked with partners, but none had fitted him like a glove to his hand the way Ray had. Together, they operated like a smooth, well-oiled machine; one that was greater than the sum of its component parts. He knew he'd never find anyone good enough to replace Doyle. And to make matters worse, not only had he lost a bloody good professional partnership, he'd lost his best friend.

Dragging himself back to the present, he realised he'd stopped walking and was staring at a crack in the corner of a paving stone through which several blades of grass were poking. Glancing down the road, he realised he was nearly at the house and knew he'd have to go back in. He resumed his slow walk.

There was one huge question unanswered. Why? Why had this happened? From what Doyle had said, he'd obviously mistaken all his horseplay as some kind of come-on. Not because it was, but because Ray wanted to believe it was. In reality, he'd just indulged in the kind of antics blokes do when they're good mates, never for a moment thinking it might be misconstrued. But that was because he'd thought his partner was straight -- that vital missing piece of information made all the difference, putting a whole new complexion on things. Fuck.

Another few steps and he was back at the house. Carefully ignoring the curious looks he knew he'd be getting from Murphy and Stewart, he went up the faded red door and let himself in. The house inside wasn't much warmer than outside, and so it was with some reluctance that he unzipped his jacket as he completed the first flight of stairs, passing by a row of anonymous doors, the pale blue paint chipped and dirty. Continuing his ascent, he carefully banked his feelings, suppressing them as he'd learnt to do as a child whenever his mother had let him down or one of her boyfriends had given him a hard time.

But still, on the last flight, he unconsciously slowed down, not because of fatigue but from a reluctance to share the same space as Ray. Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice in this. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to the bedsit and went in.

Doyle, sitting at the window, didn't turn around. From the brief glance Bodie afforded him, he could tell his partner was tense as he sat there, shoulders hunched. One look at the dirty armchair reminded him he wasn't going to sit there. What put him off the most was the dark, shiny smudge on the old fabric, where countless people had rested their greasy heads.

Bodie grabbed the newspaper Doyle had discarded, went to the bed and placing a pillow against the wall, sat down. Trouble was, he couldn't concentrate, finding his gaze being involuntarily drawn to his partner across the room.

Ray was in love with him. That's what he'd said. It was just so hard to believe. In the years he'd known him, Doyle had shown himself to be tough, independent and strong-willed. Yes, he had a vulnerable side which he'd been allowed to see on occasion, but this….this just blew his mind.

"Knock it off, Bodie," Doyle said suddenly, making him jump.

"Wha'?"

"You're sittin' there starin' at me like I've grown two fuckin' heads."

Bodie was perplexed as Doyle hadn't turned around the whole time he'd been back in the room. "How do you…?"

"Your reflection in the window. But I don't need to see you -- I can practically hear your thoughts. 'How did I get lumbered with a shirtlifter as a partner?' or 'How can a poofter watch my back when all he's doin' is watchin' my arse?' or 'Better keep my back to the wall while I'm with…'"

"Shut it!" Bodie shouted, jumping off the bed. "I'm not going to apologise to you for anything I'm thinking. But if you think that's what's been going through my mind, then you don't know me at all. I couldn't give a flying fuck who you sleep with."

"Yeah?" Doyle sneered. "So why did you run away?"

"I didn't run away -- just needed some space, 's all. What the hell am I supposed to think after what you did to me and then telling me you're in love with me?"

"You fearin' for your virtue? Don't worry mate, won't have to worry much longer. Decided whatever Cowley says, 'm leavin'."

"CI5? Why?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Doyle ask, suddenly sounding very tired. "You."

Bodie waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Me? Oh no Doyle, don't start blaming me. "It's not my fault. I didn't ask for this."

"No? Well if it makes you feel better thinkin' that. Fine."

It was infuriating talking to Doyle's back. Not once during this confrontation had he made eye contact. Stalking up behind Doyle, he noticed him flinch as he put a hand on his shoulder to turn him around. "Look at me," Bodie demanded.

With obvious reluctance, Doyle complied.

"Don't you dare start trying to make me feel guilty, Ray," said Bodie. His stance was aggressive as he leaned slightly forward over his seated partner, legs astride and hands on hips. "You got yourself into this mess -- no help from me. Whatever you decide, you do it on your own."

"But you don't want me as a partner any more, do you?" Doyle asked quietly.

Bodie pulled back, momentarily disarmed by the question. "I….I don't know what I want right now. I need some time to get my head around all this." He couldn't be more honest than that.

Doyle dropped his gaze. "Yeah well I've told you how I feel," he said, pulling at a loose thread at the seam of his jeans. "I'd rather be somewhere where I'm not goin' to be runnin' into you every five minutes. Cowley'll find you someone else to partner -- maybe Murph or Jax."

At that moment, Bodie came to a realisation. "Don't want anyone else as a partner," he said quietly.

At those words, Doyle glanced up at him, his eyes searching Bodie's face, seemingly searching for some clue as to what Bodie could mean.

Unable to maintain Doyle's penetrating gaze, he turned away, shoulders slumped in defeat. Right then, he had no idea what he wanted, except perhaps to regain the rapport and easy camaraderie they'd shared until an hour ago.

Christ, what a bloody mess, he thought as he slumped down on the bed. When he glanced over at Doyle, his partner was staring out the window, his hunched shoulders testament to his state of mind. Neither of them were exactly concentrating on the job. Thank god it wasn't anything too taxing.

But things were about to change on that score.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bodie," Doyle called. "Look."

Bodie jumped off the bed and turned out the light before making for the window. Doyle was already taking photos. Pulling back the net curtain, he had to clear an area of condensation on his side of the window before he could see out, wiping his wet fingers on his trousers as he glanced down at the street. A car had pulled up outside the house and four men were just getting out. Bingo! One was walking up the pathway, the others following a moment later. Bodie felt a low surge of adrenaline at the thought that they were finally about to have some action -- anything to take his mind of the events of that evening.

Simultaneously, Bodie's R/T blipped from his inside jacket pocket. "3.7."

"6.2 here -- the eagle has landed."

Bodie's lips curved up into a smile. "You've been watching too many movies, mate. Yeah, we got 'em. You going to call control or shall I?"

"I'll do it. 6.2 out."

"Only taken 13 pics," said Doyle after squinting for a moment at the top of the camera. "Plenty more on that roll."

As they waited, they watched. In the house opposite, lights came on first downstairs and then up, but with the curtains drawn, there was nothing to see.

By its very nature, the area of the dormer window was cramped and if not for what had happened earlier, they would have been quite unselfconsciously leaning on each other, maybe even joking about sharing body-warmth to combat the cold.

Now there was a space between them which might just as well have been as wide as a canyon. Yet for all that, Bodie was still very aware of the proximity of the man who stood those scant inches away from him. It seemed as if he could feel the heat from his partner's body, but was certain it was just the product of his overactive imagination. He tried to imagine what might be going through Doyle's mind at that moment, being so close to the man he fancied. He wondered if it turned him on being this near or if Doyle was wishing he could hold him. Blimey, Doyle'd managed a sight more than that earlier.

Bodie knew the rapt look on Doyle's face had been a clear indication of how it had made him feel, the memory of that look indelibly printed in Bodie's memory. The recollection made him shudder.

"Cold here, innit?" said Doyle, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. That newspaper makes crap draft-proofing." Bodie wondered whether he sounded as casual he was trying to make out. He resisted the urge to move away from Doyle, trying to act as near as he could to what he would normally do.

The silence between them was awkward, strained, and it made Bodie feel uncomfortable. While still gazing at the house opposite he said, "No point in us both being here. I can take over for a while."

He knew Doyle was looking at him, but he didn't take his eyes off their target. It was a moment before he got a reply.

"Yeah, OK."

When Bodie sat on the chair his partner had just vacated, it still held Doyle's warmth. The heat seemed to seep into him, the intimacy leaving him feeling discomforted.

He heard Doyle make for the bed and lie down -- there wasn't much he could do with the lights off. One side of the room was illuminated by the orange glow of a nearby street light, the other by the blue flame of the two gas rings.

As he sat there, he tried to imagine what might be going through Doyle's mind right at that moment, but then decided he really would rather not think about it. With that thought, he focussed his attention on the house.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, two men emerged and as he stared through the viewfinder of the camera and began to take pictures, he sensed rather than heard Doyle move up beside him.

Bodie zoomed in for closer shots - they were putting something in the boot of the car - a bomb?

A quiet bleep. "4.5."

Doyle said it so quickly, Bodie realised he must have had the radio in his hand.

"Alpha One, 4.5. 6.2 and 7.3 will tail - you and 3.7 will be on your own to continue your watch."

"4.5 Understood."

"Alpha One out."

They watched as the two men drove off, followed at a discreet distance by Murphy and Stuart.

Doyle's sigh was audible. "You reckon there's any chance the Cow will send us some relief tonight?"

Bodie held back on the automatic and resentful thought that Doyle had already provided that. Instead he said, "Knowing our luck, no."

"Might try an' get a bit of shut-eye then. Got any objections?"

"Go ahead mate. Won't catch me lying down on that flea-pit." He was reasonably sure his voice sounded fairly normal.

Bodie stared bleakly out of the window and shivered as he watched white flakes drift gently down in the pool of light cast by the street lamp. He didn't think it would settle.

He managed to suspend all thought for some time, staring mindlessly at the house opposite, watching lights go on and off, allowing him to track their movements to some extent, and providing reassurance that they hadn't slipped out the back door. They'd been briefed that escaping that way was virtually impossible without a ladder, as most of the back garden walls were very high and they'd have to climb from one to the other for about thirty houses in each direction before they could gain access to a street.

Then, without warning, he found himself remembering the sight of Ray kneeling before him, Ray sucking him. It was a compelling memory, one he knew he would never be able to forget. The sort that replays itself over and over, whether you want it to or not.

He ruthlessly suppressed it and thought instead about their current assignment. He wondered where Murph and Stuart were off to and that thought led to him trying to speculate where the likeliest places bombs would be placed. There were no state visits planned in the next week, nor any official ceremonies. In fact he could think of no obvious reason why a bombing campaign should begin now, five weeks after Christmas.

A noise distracted him, bringing him back to his current surroundings. It was with some amusement that he realised the noise was Ray, making little grunting noises in his sleep. He grinned. The little sod had the ability to sleep just about anywhere in most circumstances.

The affectionate smile disappeared as he realised it meant Ray can't have had much on his conscience if he could drop off so quickly. No regrets that he'd just blown their partnership to smithereens. That he was intending leaving CI5; leaving him.

A movement outside and his mind was back on the job. The front door of the house opposite was opening. A man emerged carrying two large holdalls and took them up to a car parked near the house.

"Ray," Bodie called as he pressed the camera's shutter-release to make a record of this. To Doyle's credit, he was immediately awake and at his side. The last light in the house went out and a second man came out carrying two more bags.

Doyle called HQ. "Looks like they're leaving," he said. They're locking up."

"Follow them," Cowley ordered.

"Understood," said Doyle making for the door. In the time it took Bodie to turn off the gas rings and shut the door to the room, he could hear Doyle opening the front door.

When he got outside, Doyle was in the front garden, crouching behind the hedge. Being deciduous, he could watch their targets through the bare branches.

"Hang on a mo…." Doyle said quietly. "OK, they're getting' in the car. C'mon." It was essential they weren't seen or suspicion would be aroused. So keeping low, they made their way to the gold Capri parked a little way down the road. Bodie got in the passenger door and awkwardly climbed over to the driver’s seat, catching his left knee on the gear stick and his right foot on the handbrake. This slowed him down, prompting Doyle to push urgently on his bum to hurry him up. Before that evening, he wouldn't have even been aware of the touch, now it seemed to sear right through him. He bit back on the nasty retort that was on the tip of his tongue.

The car ahead of them pulled away just as Doyle was closing the door. Turning the ignition, the engine came to life and so did the blower as it pushed out icy air on maximum setting.

"Fuck, turn it off," said Bodie, his fingers turning to ice as they gripped the freezing steering wheel. A few turns and they were out on the main road. Being after midnight, the well-illuminated roads were almost deserted, forcing Bodie to hang back further than he wanted to.

Doyle contacted base. "We're currently heading south on Camden Road, our target in sight. Can you run a check on this car: black Ford Cortina, number plate: Charlie-Romeo-Papa-two-six-three-November."

The number was repeated back and while it was being checked, a more familiar voice came on the line. "Alpha One. Status?"

"Just turning south down York Way, heading towards Kings Cross."

"I see. I suppose it's too early to speculate where they're going. Not towards the West End though. Ah…the results of that trace…your car was stolen two days ago from a car park in Slough. Make contact again when you think you know what your likely destination is."

"Right, sir. 4.5 out."

Although the car interior had warmed up, the atmosphere between the two men had not. An uneasy silence prevailed.

The road had narrowed and the car ahead had pulled up to the lights. Bodie slowed right down and chose to pull into a space rather than up behind their target. As the lights changed to green, they followed the one-way system into Pentonville Road and then down Gray's Inn Road towards the City. Now the road was totally deserted and Bodie was forced to hang back even further.

Round Holborn, higher than the surrounding buildings, the dome of St Paul's Cathedral was visible in silhouette from the Viaduct. As they entered Cheapside, Bodie was left with little doubt of their destination. The City, as the financial heart of England's capital, was always going to present a probable terrorist target. The question was, which noble institution did they intend blowing up? The Bank of England? The Stock Exchange? Lloyds? This last one brought a smile to Bodie's face as he wondered who insured the biggest insurance company in the world.

Doyle contacted base again and was informed that another unit would be sent in that direction for back-up.

The car, 300 yards ahead, was turning right down a side street beside Cannon Street Station. "Where does that go?" he asked Doyle, slowing down.

"Dunno. No-where, I don't think. Don't know this area much - it's not the Met's patch." Doyle was thumbing through an A to Z.

"Oh yeah, City Police." He'd forgotten about that. Surrounded by the Met, the City Police had managed to stay intact, looking after what was the oldest part of London town.

"Dead end," said Doyle.

Bodie drove past the turning. He looked around, but if they parked anywhere around these deserted streets and they'd stick out like a sore thumb.

"Let me out. Try the next turning and we can meet up. I'll contact base again."

Bodie stopped and watched Doyle jump out and run back towards where the car had turned. 100 yards ahead he could see another very narrow turning, this time to the left. Turning into it, he stopped and got out.

Both sides of the street were lined with high-rise offices, the bitter wind whistling between them, cutting through his jacket in the process and chilling his skin. Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold, he headed back. Cannon Street Station was one of the main feeder terminal stations to the City, bringing in hundreds of thousands of commuters every day from south-east London and Kent. In the dead of night, and a Sunday too, the station front was all closed up.

Walking past the main entrance, he got to the place he'd last seen Doyle. However, his partner had since vanished, and so had the two men they were following. Walking to the bottom of the road, he found their car standing empty beside the curb. Bodie pulled out his R/T and called Doyle. No answer. That could mean one of two things. He preferred to think it was because Ray might give himself away by answering it. All the same, he felt uneasy and reached inside his jacket to pull out his gun.

Glancing around, he saw an open side entrance to the station a little way back up the road, and walked towards it. Glancing around the wall, he peered inside, but the place looked deserted, not even a train on one of the many platforms.

Bodie was just deciding what to do when he caught sight of someone at the far end of the station, next to the ticket offices. Impossible to identify a face in such poor lighting, he knew it was Doyle just from the way he moved. Relief. Moving inside and keeping himself flat against the wall, he glanced around but saw no sign of the other two. His R/T bleeped. He heard Jax's cheerful voice.

"We're on The Embankment, heading your way. Where are you?"

Surprise made Bodie drop the formalities of radio-talk. "Didn't Doyle call?"

"No, we've been waiting to hear from you."

"Shit. We're at Cannon Street Station. I think they're planting the bomb here - this place'll be wall-to-wall commuters in seven hours. I've lost sight of our targets, but I think Ray's on to them."

"Think?" Jax's voice sounded puzzled.

"Saw him a minute ago, but he's not answering his R/T. I'm going in."

"OK - we'll be there in a couple of minutes and then…"

Bodie heard no more as a huge explosion rocked the station, the detonation taking his breath away, its force pushing him against the wall and knocking his R/T and gun from his grasp. Automatically, he dropped into a near foetal position to protect himself, clasping his hands tightly about his head. Noise reverberated around, the crashing of falling masonry, the shattering of glass, alarm bells and sirens sounding. Bodie's eyes were full of dust as tears streamed down his face, the reflex an attempt to be rid of the irritating foreign substance. He knew, just knew, that the epicentre of the blast was somewhere close to where he'd last seen Ray.

Despite all the dust and debris, Bodie stood up and began to run as best he could towards the place he'd last seen Doyle. It wasn't easy as he clambered over large chunks of concrete and shards of glass, as more loose material fell from above. A glance up and he realised he was nearly there. In the distance he could hear the sirens of the emergency services.

"Ray! Where are you Ray?"

Nothing. He got close to the far wall and found his way barred by huge blocks of masonry. "Ray!" he called again. Something told him he was close, so he started to clamber up over the blockage, his fingers bleeding from contact with splintered glass. Gingerly, he found his way around the large mound, losing his hold several times as parts of it gave way under his weight. When he got to the other side, it was almost impossible to see anything in the near darkness, causing him to move on instinct alone.

The wall in front of him was the exact place he'd seen Doyle. A police car pulled up at the far side of the station, its flickering strobe intermittently illuminating a hole in the wall close to him that he hadn't been able to see before. He knew the structure around him was unsound, but some inner voice told him to go through the hole. Inside, it was pitch black, so he moved carefully, his arms outstretched.

Suddenly, a few moments after he had made it through, there came a crashing noise, accompanied by more dust and debris. Instinctively protecting his head he crouched, waiting for it, or his life, to end. All the sounds from the main concourse from where he'd just come were cut off. When things stabilised, he gingerly looked in the direction of the hole he'd just climbed through and realised it must be completely blocked. There were no more strobes, no light, nothing; just pitch dark. He was entombed.

No doubt outside there would be sounds of raised voices, sirens blaring. Outside the world existed, no doubt trying to make sense of what had just happened. But in the world he now inhabited came only the whisper of silence; nothing stirring the dusty air but his own breaths.

"Ray?" he said, his voice quiet as if its power could do further damage. He gauged from the deadened tone that the area he was enclosed in was small. He turned a full circle, hoping he'd touch something to help give him some orientation. Carefully, he shuffled forward, but with no sense of direction, for all he knew, he could be going the way he'd just come.

Although the place he was in was heated, he shivered, hating the darkness, hating the feeling of helplessness, of aloneness. His foot contacted something soft and he knelt to feel…a body. He knew it was Ray, knew even before he smelt the familiar after-shave.

Bodie dropped to his knees. "Ray? You OK?" he asked, his rasped voice thick with relief. "Ray!"

With a sob, he worked his way quickly up the body to locate his neck, feel for a pulse. It was weak and rapid. Hand on chest - no movement.

No! Why wasn't he breathing? Airway - check the airway. Opening the mouth, he realised Doyle had swallowed his tongue. He grabbed hold of Doyle's head and pulled it back to arch his neck. Then, pinching his nose, he took a deep breath and blew into his mouth, once; another breath, twice. Nothing. Again and again.

Then a cough. And another. Yes! Ray was breathing.

Bodie felt elated. "Ray, are you OK? Can you hear me, Ray? It's me, Bodie."

Nothing. Still unconscious then. Not taking any chances, he carefully pulled the dead weight of his partner to face him in the three quarter prone position, hoping that the movement wouldn't exacerbate any injuries he might have. Cradling Doyle's head, Bodie swept his hand across the floor to ensure he wasn't lying on anything that would hurt him. Then, another check of the pulse and this time it was stronger and more steady.

Relief swept through him. Now all they had to do was wait until someone could dig them out and all being well, it shouldn't take too long.

The next thing to do was to check for any obvious injuries. Starting at his head, he almost immediately felt a sticky wetness near his right temple. Although there seemed to be a lot of blood, he stopped any possible rising panic by rationalising that head injuries often bled heavily, even when not serious.

After a moment's thought, he decided the best course of action would be first to check the rest of Ray and then go back to administer first aid. Working methodically, he gradually felt along Doyle's body and was relieved to find no more obvious injuries. Then, tearing off a piece of his shirt, he mopped up the blood from his partner's head, but was reluctant to apply pressure in case the skull was fractured.

Sitting on the floor in the pitch black, the need to have contact with Ray was almost overwhelming. Using the excuse that he ought to check his pulse regularly to ensure all was well, he took Doyle's hand and held on to it as if his life depended on it. He spared a moment's gratitude that at least, wherever they were, it was warm. Now he had nothing else to do but hope the structure above them was stable, wait for rescue and think.

Once again, their job was providing them with a painful reminder of how fleeting their lives were and how little control they had over their fates. Earlier that evening they'd been enjoying an evening out with two attractive women - without a care in the world. Now they lay entombed, Doyle unconscious beside him.

Bodie should have felt tired - it was the middle of the night, but the adrenaline rush from the time of the explosion was still having an effect. That, together with his very real worry for Doyle, was ensuring he remained wide awake and alert. He needed to be attentive in case Doyle's status changed, and to direct a rescue crew to them.

The thought made him listen out but he could hear nothing. He wondered whether perhaps he ought to try calling out.

"Hello! Can anyone hear me? Hello!" Silence. Keep that up and his voice would give out pretty soon. He'd do it intermittently or if he heard anything outside.

Meanwhile, he became aware that he was clutching Doyle's limp hand. At least it was warm - that ought to be a good sign. This was the hand that…

The image leapt into his mind: Doyle wrapping his hand around his prick and pumping. It had felt good, he could now admit to himself. But then again, he'd been gagging for it - anything would have felt good, he justified. When Ray had sucked him…

An involuntary shudder passed through him.

Ray had known, he realised, exactly how to do it, how to make it good for him. Bloody good, in fact. How many blokes had Ray done that to before? he found himself wondering. He quashed the thought - he really didn't want to think about that.

He frowned at the memory of Doyle implying that it was what he, Bodie, had wanted. Of course, Ray was wrong. He wasn't that way inclined. The job they had meant that they practically lived in each other's pockets, that's all. The closeness that a partnership like theirs necessarily engendered wasn't sexual as Ray had seemed to think, or presumably hoped, given his confession. His partner had been seeing something that simply wasn't there.

Was it?

Blimey. Where did that little question pop up from? No, it wasn't there and that was that. But even as he was squelching the idea at birth, another thought stole insidiously into his consciousness. Ray was in love with him - apparently had been for some while. For the first time since the amazing announcement, he took the thought and held it up to the light, to better view it, consider it. But even as he did so, the notion just blew his mind. He honestly had had no idea at all, the confession coming like a bolt from the blue.

Bodie thought about what being in love meant. He didn't believe he had ever experienced that depth of feeling, experienced that degree of emotional involvement with anyone. Yes, he'd come close with one, maybe two women, but he'd never gone so far that he'd wanted to commit himself unconditionally. Yet, Ray was claiming that about him.

In the darkness, Bodie smiled and shook his head in wonder. At the same time, he became conscious again of the hand he clutched and gave it a small squeeze. So, for Ray, it wasn't just about sex. For some reason, that thought comforted him; definitely made him feel better about it all. But why?

Bodie wasn't usually a one to go into deep analysis about anything. He left all that sort of stuff to Ray - let's face it, the bloke had turned it into an art-form. He could take a problem, dissect it, inspect every piece in minuscule detail, and finally decide what it all meant. Trouble was, since it was all about his own interpretation of things, it meant he didn't always get it right. But Ray didn't let a little thing like that stop him. He was good at conveniently forgetting all his mistakes, recalling only his triumphs.

Sitting here, next to his prone partner, waiting for rescue, Bodie had little to do. So analyse, he thought simply. Yet, some inner part of him rebelled before he could focus, almost instinctively shying away from any navel inspections.

Maybe he ought to be trying harder to get rescued. Sitting here in silence wasn't going to get them found. He listened intently for sounds from the outside world. Nothing.

"Hello!" he shouted. "Can anybody hear me? Hellooooo."

Still nothing. And no movement from Doyle either. That last thought bothered him more than the fact that no-one knew they were there.

Nothing to do but to sit and think. Maybe he was going to have to inspect his navel after all.

He realised that the anger he'd felt earlier had vanished, to be replaced by a feeling of awe and genuine amazement. Ray, in love with him. Incredible! He just couldn't seem to equate that level of dependence with Ray, somehow. Dependence on him. Yet the notion just didn't seem to ring true. It implied a weakness, a need, as if Ray couldn't be without him and he knew that to be untrue. After all, he'd announced earlier that evening that he intended to leave CI5. That didn't sound like the actions of a dependent man.

The thought of Doyle leaving upset Bodie and therein, he realised with a jolt, lay a bitter irony. Ray might not be dependent on him, but maybe the reverse wasn't entirely the case. Bodie knew a moment of truth when he saw one. OK, time to face things head on.

He recognised that he relied on his partner not just professionally, but personally. Ray was his best friend. The one mate he could never seem to see enough of, the one he'd rather spend his time off with than any other. So, what did that mean? he wondered.

This line of thinking, he knew, meant he was skirting along the edge of a potential emotional and psychological minefield. But Bodie wasn't the sort of person to shy away from the truth once he had worked it out for himself.

He and Ray were close. So, how did he feel about Ray? Did he love him too? The depth of feeling evoked at the thought of him leaving told him yes, he did love Ray. But he felt it was a fraternal type of love. It seemed a long path from that to being in love. The big question was, had he trodden any way down that path? Would he want to?

The only way of telling was to go back to the sex. If he was capable of having and enjoying sex with Ray, then maybe he was capable of more than just brotherly love. The trouble was, it was impossible to imagine sleeping with his partner, being so far out of his field of experience.

Kissing. That was such an intimate act. Kissing Ray. Yeah, now he thought about it, now the idea didn't seem so alien any more, he was sure he could do it and even enjoy it. He'd seen…no, now was the time he needed to be honest with himself -- he had watched Ray kissing before and knew the bloke had a good technique. He'd given his partner the kiss of life earlier - hadn't given it a second thought and it hadn't seemed yucky, the way it would undoubtedly have done with any other bloke. Sure, he hadn't had time to think about it then, but even now, he wasn't bothered by it.

He reckoned he wouldn't have any trouble giving Doyle a hand-job. A blow job, though - that was far more intimate.

Ray on his knees sucking him off.

It was still a strong image - could he put himself in that position? He really didn't know. But Ray had been right, he could now admit. He had been watching him earlier that evening. He'd been fascinated by what Marie had been doing to him, fascinated by the effect she was having on Ray.

There had been a sexual tension about them for a while, he now realised. He knew that some balance had changed in their relationship, but until now, he'd not been able to put his finger on what it was. It just was different and he had accepted that at face value. No wonder poor Ray had reached the end of his tether, getting all those signals from him but not backing them up with action. He was always touching Ray up, goosing him, putting an arm around his shoulder, sharing his space.

As far as Doyle was concerned, it basically made him a prick-tease - albeit an unconscious one. He genuinely had no idea what was happening. He sighed as he thought about the row he'd had with Ray that night. The lady doth protest too much…

Once again he thought about sex with Ray. How about anal sex? Giving Ray one wouldn't, he didn't think, pose any problems. But taking it. No, definitely not. It wasn't just that he would feel emasculated - which he knew he would to some extent - but also that the notion held absolutely no appeal whatsoever, in any way, shape or form. Not even with Ray.

So. Now that he'd reached acceptance, where did all this leave him then? He had no idea, he realised, what Ray wanted out of it all. A permanent relationship? That would be asking too much of him. Something more casual, maybe. Maybe. As soon as Ray was well, they'd have to talk. He needed to try to persuade his partner to stay. He didn't want to be without him. They'd been…

His thoughts stopped abruptly when he heard a noise close by, on the other side of the wall. There it was again - someone knocking.

"Hello," he bellowed at the top of his voice. "Can you hear me?"

The noises outside were muffled, which meant they might not be able to hear his voice. He needed to bang with something. Reluctantly dropping Doyle's hand, he began to crawl along the floor towards where the noise had come from, his outstretched hand searching for an implement. Seconds later, he found and grasped the metallic leg of an upturned stool. Standing up, he held the stool out and began to walk with it towards the banging noise. As soon as he reached the wall, he began knocking rhythmically back. Now it would just be a matter of time.


	3. Chapter 3

Bodie had insisted on accompanying Doyle in the ambulance to St Bartholomew's. Despite a raised eyebrow from the medic with them, he had continued to clutch his partner's hand. If the woman found it odd, she could take a running jump, as far as he was concerned. But she'd just ignored it and continued to attend to the needs of Doyle during the short ride to the hospital.

Located next to St Paul's Cathedral on the edge of The City, St Bart's, as it was fondly known locally, was quiet, the casualty area deserted in the small hours. As Doyle was wheeled off to a cubicle, a familiar figure approached Bodie, stopping him from accompanying his partner.

"What happened?" Cowley demanded to know.

Bodie shrugged. "Ray went in while I parked the car. Just as I got there, the bomb went off."

Cowley's gaze was piercing. "Just as you got there? How is it, then, that you were found together in the ticket office?" The note of disbelief in his voice was clear.

Suddenly Bodie felt very, very tired. "Straight after the explosion, I went off in the direction I'd last seen Ray. Managed to find him just before some more of the place collapsed around us."

"Aye, and you're lucky you're both still alive. What on earth possessed you to go in with all that structural damage, man?" The Controller's anger was beginning to show. "You must have been able to see the place was unsafe."

Bodie's expression was defiant, his own anger rising. "I had to find my partner."

Cowley's tenuous hold on his patience snapped, his voice raising. "The rescue services would have…"

"The rescue services, sir, would have been too late," Bodie interrupted loudly, all his frustration and fear finally finding an outlet. "When I found him, he was choking on his tongue. He'd stopped breathing."

The Controller's face softened at that news. He paused a moment, then said more quietly, "Aye, well you'd best find a doctor to see to those hands of yours."

Not knowing what his boss was talking about, he looked down, to find them covered in grime and blood. He hadn't even noticed.

 

Having completed a battery of tests on Doyle, the consultant had informed Bodie that he didn't consider his partner's condition critical. However, just as a precaution, Doyle had been put in intensive care. It had taken a fight, but Bodie had got them to agree to him sitting the rest of the night in the room with him. It was nearly 5am.

The room was small, with mint-green walls, one with an observation window in it, and grey lino covering the floor. Various pieces of hospital equipment stood around, some of it switched off, others attached to his partner, bleeping and flashing as they monitored his life-signs. Someone had turned the light down to simulate something close to twilight. With the room being so warm, Doyle lay peacefully, a bandage around his head, and only a sheet to cover him.

A combination of the heat of the room, the knowledge that Doyle was being well cared-for and his own exhaustion caused Bodie to drop off to sleep.

When Bodie came to, several hours later, he felt groggy and disorientated. A nurse was busying herself around Doyle.

"Is he OK?" Bodie asked, worried.

The nurse stopped what she was doing and smiled at him. "His condition's stable. That's all we can tell at the moment." She turned back to Doyle and checked a tube attached to the back of his hand. "I gather from Dr. Brown that you saved his life," she said after a moment.

"He said he doubts Ray got any brain damage from lack of oxygen because his heart was still going. He says it's a good sign." Despite being told that by the consultant, he needed reassurance.

The nurse turned to him, perhaps hearing the note of concern. "That's right. But he did get a hefty blow to the head in the explosion. We don't know yet what that's done to him."

That's what the doctor had said. They don't know…

He needed the loo but as he stood up, a pain in his back made itself felt, probably from the uncomfortable position he'd slept in. His left hand, all bandaged up, felt painful too, and while the other hand had several plasters, it felt relatively undamaged. He stood up, rolled his neck around and then stretched, feeling his vertebrae cracking as he did so.

Leaving the nurse to it, Bodie strolled out into the brightly-lit corridor and quickly found a toilet. After using the facilities, he carefully splashed water onto his face with the unbandaged hand. A nearby vending machine provided him with something approximating coffee, which he took back into Doyle's room. The nurse had gone.

He studied Ray's face for ages, seeing it with different eyes. Where the bandage covered part of his head, a bruise seemed to be creeping out from under it to just below his right cheekbone. The closed eyelids hid a pair of wide-set green eyes that Bodie knew missed little. His nose was smaller than most blokes and straight, his lips quite full. Not having shaved for 24 hours, a dark shadow dusted his jaw. What gave Ray's face real character, though, were his mismatched cheekbones. It stopped him looking too fey; gave him a street-urchin appeal. Bodie smiled at that last thought with affection, knowing that if Doyle had any idea what silly notions were going through his mind, he'd probably kill him. Slowly.

Bodie pulled his chair closer to the bed, and leant his elbows on the mattress. He coughed self-consciously, then addressed his partner. "They're not sure if you're unconscious or in a coma," he began hesitantly. "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I've got a few things to tell you and I'm doing it while I've still got the guts to say it."

He felt silly sitting there talking to his unconscious friend and a restlessness made him stand up and walk around the room while he paused to arrange his thoughts.

He stared unseeing out the observation window. "I've got to be honest, when you told me how you felt about me yesterday, you could've knocked me down with a feather. I honestly had no idea. Yeah I was angry. I thought it was going to mess up our partnership, and I was right." Bodie paused and turning to face Doyle, leant his back against the window. "You've said you're going to leave CI5, Ray, and I don't want you to go."

There was a long silence. Over in the corner Bodie's gaze rested on a machine that Bodie had no idea as to its purpose. What he saw, though, was that it had a curly lead which had got all caught up and needed untangling. He had the same compulsion when he saw telephone wires in a similar state. He walked over and began untangling, finding the exercise quite therapeutic as it gave him something to do.

"Last night, I realised how much you mean to me. You do mean a lot to me. Trouble is, it's more a kind of brotherly love. Don't know if I could cope with the sex, mate. Never done anything like that. Not sure why, but I reckon I'd know for sure if we kissed."

"I'd need to brush my teeth first…" came a weak voice from behind him.

Bodie nearly jumped out of his skin. Spinning round, he stared at Doyle lying on the bed with a big grin on his face. Relief that his partner was going to be all right, flooded through Bodie as he grinned back.

 

"Tea please," said Doyle, slumping in a heap on his sofa. The bandage around his head had been removed, but the right side of his face was still varying shades of green and purple bruising.

"What am I? Your servant?" Bodie grumbled back as he headed towards the kitchen. 

"You heard the Cow. Since I'm not fully recovered, you're to look after me, at least 'til your hand's healed properly."

In truth, Bodie was glad to escape from Doyle for a few minutes, as he was feeling distinctly nervous. They'd just walked through the door to Doyle's flat, having picked him up from the hospital. It had been four days since his partner had regained consciousness and in that time, Bodie had studiously avoided discussing that subject. If Doyle was puzzled by this, he didn't show it. But now they were alone and in private, he knew the topic could no longer be suppressed. At that very moment, he wasn't too sure whether his twitchiness was the result of excitement or dread.

Knowing Doyle was going to be released that day, Bodie had stopped by the previous evening with some provisions, including fresh milk. Fortunately, but not unexpectedly, there hadn't been too much out-of-date stuff to clear out of the fridge.

Carrying two steaming mugs into the living room, Bodie set them down on the coffee table and, needing the distance, sat down in the arm chair. Doyle had put the radio on - must be Radio 3, he surmised, as they were playing some classical piece he didn't recognise.

"Ta mate," was all Doyle said.

"Suppose we ought to talk," Bodie said after a lengthy and slightly awkward silence.

Doyle focussed on his mug of tea. "I've decided I'm still leavin' Bodie. It won't work."

Bodie looked stricken. "Why?" was all he could ask around the lump in his throat. It was the last thing he'd expected Doyle to say. He thought he'd be grateful to him for willing to give it a try.

Doyle leant forward and met the intense blue gaze. "Don't want you turnin' yourself into some kind of sacrificial lamb on my account. It doesn't suit you."

Bodie was completely nonplussed. "What you talking about?"

"You, up to tryin' out sex with me just to keep me here."

Bodie was about to speak but Doyle held up his hand to stop him. "An' don't insult my intelligence by denyin' it either."

Bodie's mouth clamped shut. He studied his hands for a moment, the cuts from broken glass still evident. "I told you I wanted to give it a try." He glanced up at Doyle and added, "How can I find out if it's going to work for me or not if you don't even give me a chance?"

"You're goin' to force yourself to do somethin' you don't really want. An' you're doin' it for the wrong reasons. You'd only end up hatin' me in the end. You don't fancy me, do you?"

Bodie leant forward and picking up his mug, took a few sips as he contemplated the question. For a long time, he sat in silence. "No," he said, finally. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so…?" Doyle sounded surprised.

"Well, I don't know what it is I feel. I know for a fact I couldn't do anything with any other bloke, but it seems all right with you. Maybe 'cos I know you so well. Like you said that night, we're as good as married already. But I wouldn't go so far as to say I actually fancy you. Maybe if we went to bed and I enjoyed it, I would fancy you. I dunno."

"Bodie, I love you too much to force myself on you. But you have to understand that for my own sanity, I can't stay around you any more. I can't keep my hands off you any more."

"So don't then."

Doyle stared at Bodie for a moment and then shook his head. "I think you'd better go," he finally said, quietly.

"Cowley's orders…"

"Fuck Cowley!" Doyle shouted.

"Rather you fucked me," Bodie retorted. As Doyle stared at him in amazement, perhaps assessing if he was serious, Bodie wondered where the hell that comment had come from. It certainly wasn't what he had been thinking.

"Go," Doyle said again more quietly.

Feeling confused from his own words, Bodie got up. Half of his being was screaming at him to put some distance between them, to give him time and privacy to think, while the other half was telling him not to go, not to let Doyle have his way. He sensed, rather than saw Doyle get up and follow him out the room. Behind him on the radio, he left the beginnings of the haunting strains of a solo violin.

At the front door, Bodie turned to his partner standing behind him. "Just do us one favour will you?"

"What?" Doyle asked warily.

"Let me kiss you. I need to know."

Bodie watched Doyle's face as his partner fought an inner battle between rejection and capitulation. When Doyle relaxed against the wall, Bodie felt a sense of elation. Yet, at the same time, his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of what he was about to do, recognising the symptoms of fight or flight. Too late now, though half of him feared it - the fear being of the unknown, of the untried - he had now to go through with it.

Bodie moved forward and felt Doyle's hands snake about his waist. His partner's face was flushed, his green eyes brighter than usual. Leaning forward, Bodie placed a small, chaste kiss on the full lips, noting that Doyle closed his eyes as he did so. Pulling back, he took another breath and moved in again, this time tipping his head to the right, allowing a firmer, longer contact. Placing his hands on either side of Doyle's face, he began to nuzzle, running his tongue over the lips and pushing gently between. With a thrill, he felt the tip of Doyle's tongue press against his own and then suddenly, Doyle groaned and opened his mouth wide. Yet the touch of tongue on tongue was hesitant, unsure.

But not from Bodie - he wanted more. His cock had hardened and wanting Doyle to witness the effect he was having on him, pushed the lower half of his body against his partner, to feel an answering hardness pressing back.

Now Doyle was playing with his lips, sucking first at the top and then at the bottom, running his tongue over them, before pushing into his mouth for further exploration. Bodie altered the position of his head and one hand tangling in the curly hair, he moved the other to cup Doyle's arse. The feel was warm and firm.

Standing there kissing Doyle, he felt as if he'd come home. He wanted more, wanted it all. "I want to make love with you, Ray," Bodie whispered, and meant it.

A look of confusion or uncertainty - Bodie couldn't decide which - seemed to cross Doyle's face.

To show he meant business, Bodie took his partner's hand and put it against his cock. "See how hard I am for you. It's yours if you want it, Ray." The words were meant to entice, to incite.

Not waiting for an answer, he continued to grip Doyle's hand and led him to the bedroom. The curtains were drawn, the room standing in the half-light that spilled through the fabric. Speakers from the radio in the living room were wired in, so the room was filled with music. It was the same piece he'd heard before, the violin hitting impossibly high notes and chords, then running up and down complex arpeggios at a rapid rate. With a climax, an orchestra joined in and then tailed off as, slow and quiet, the violin began playing a beautiful melody. It was perfect music for seduction, and that was what he was about to do.

Pulling a compliant Doyle towards him, he kissed him slowly, adoringly. Doyle seemed to melt against him.

Bodie pulled away and pulling his tie off, began to undo his shirt, button by button. Doyle stood seemingly mesmerised for a minute, just watching. Bodie stopped with a smile and stretching out, pulled Doyle's tee-shirt out from his jeans. It seemed to snap his partner out of his reverie.

"You sure about this, Bodie? I…." his cracked voice ground to a halt.

"Never more sure about anything, sunshine," Bodie assured him with a smile. "C'mere and let's get you undressed."

There was tension between them; sexual tension that seemed to make the very air about them buzz. What had been between them until now was a less intense version of it. Now for the first time, Bodie was consciously aware of it, strung out between the two of them like a taut wire, connecting them in a way he hadn't understood before. It was part of what made their partnership so successful.

Of course, Doyle had understood it long ago, but despite his inclination, had never acted on it. Bodie could only have respect and admiration for his partner that he'd never tried to force himself on him, or taken advantage of him in a drunken moment, though he must have been sorely tempted. Doyle was no saint, though he apparently had the patience of one when it came to this.

With that realisation, Bodie was suddenly aware of just how much more his partner had invested in their relationship than he, Bodie, had ever realised; and now Doyle was willing to risk so much for a chance to have something more between them, to bring that connection between them to life.

He noticed that Doyle had stood back and was undressing himself, as if giving him the space he thought he might need, a face-saving measure in case Bodie decided to back out, perhaps. He had no intention of doing so, however, and in less than a minute, the two men had divested themselves of their clothing.

Once naked, they stood gazing unselfconsciously at each other, their cocks standing out, still half hard. Bodie stared unabashed at Doyle's prick, which seemed to jump at the attention it was receiving. Bodie glanced up to grin at Doyle, a shared understanding of how it is for blokes when they're feeling randy. At the same time, he was very aware of his thumping heart, his sweaty palms, symptoms he was more familiar getting at times of fear rather than pleasure. There was no going back now, not if he didn't want to destroy Ray.

With more confidence than he felt, Bodie strolled over to the bed and lay down, holding his hands out to Doyle in invitation. Yet still his partner hesitated.

"What can I do to convince you? I want this Ray, really I do."

"'M just waitin' for the moment when I wake up to find this was all a fantastic dream."

Bodie smiled. "No dream, sunshine. This is for real." His grin broadening, he added, "Come here and I'll pinch you to prove it."

Surrounded by the haunting notes of the violin, Bodie watched as Doyle lay on top of him, pressing their mouths together in a hungry kiss, echoed further down by their cocks. As their bodies undulated, Bodie felt he wasn't getting enough friction and rolled them over so that he was on top. A few moments later Doyle rolled them back; and so, breathing heavily, their bodies glistening with sweat, the mock battle began.

Eventually, Bodie pulled back, panting. Beneath him, Doyle lay quiescent, a wanton expression on his face as he peered up. Bodie tenderly brushed two damp curls off Doyle's forehead and then said quietly, "I want to suck you."

Doyle looked stunned at the request, his green eyes wide, pupils dilating with desire. "Yeah," he agreed breathlessly.

Moving down Doyle's body, Bodie was very aware of its maleness - the hair, the hard, flat plains of stomach and chest. Pausing on his way down, he worried each nipple with his teeth, finding it more difficult to get a grip than he was used to. The action caused Doyle to buck satisfyingly beneath him. Sensitive nipples. That detail was stored carefully away.

Bodie smelt the musk before he reached his goal, the scent acting like an aphrodisiac, making him want more. Never having given a blow-job, but having been on the receiving end of one enough times to know roughly what to do, he began an enthusiastic sucking. Doyle's moans were clearly audible.

If the truth were known, once Bodie had made the decision to do it, he didn't give himself time to think about it, in case he found he didn't like it after all. However, his fears were quickly laid to rest, as the intimacy and eroticism of the action fuelled his own desire, abruptly igniting it.

It must have been the same for Doyle, because as he ran his tongue around the spongy head, he felt his head clasped. "Gonna come," Doyle warned, his voice strained.

Even now, at this moment, Doyle was considerate enough to give him the chance to pull away. But Bodie only gripped the shaft and sucked harder. Three pulls and he felt semen begin to spurt across his tongue. Doyle groaned and bucked his hips. To stop himself being inadvertently choked, he placed an arm over Doyle's abdomen, holding him down as he sucked eagerly.

Beneath him, he felt Doyle's body relax, though he was still panting hard. Another suck on his lover's cock elicited a shudder and Bodie smiled, knowing how sensitive he himself felt immediately after he'd come. He pulled away, allowing himself to analyse the taste in his mouth -- it was sharp, but not unpleasant.

The violin music playing on the radio had speeded up again, the orchestra and soloist playing in counterpoint.

"Fuck, I can't believe you just did that, Bodie," said Doyle, his voice weak.

"Did it, and enjoyed it, Ray," Bodie said, feeling the need to reassure. "But, I'm still…" he looked down, knowing Doyle was following his gaze.

"…in need of some attention," Doyle finished off with a grin.

"Just a bit," Bodie agreed smiling back. The moment of Doyle's orgasm had been so sublime, it had nearly triggered his own; but somehow, he'd held it in check, wanting Ray to make him come, like he had at the bedsit.

Doyle pushed himself up, so he was leaning back on his elbows. "Do you want to fuck me?"

Yes, Bodie's body cried, his cock jumping. Yet even as he felt the jolt of desire, he worried he'd be unable to control himself.

Doyle misread his hesitation. "Look, if that's goin' a bit fast for you, I can suck you off instead."

"No, it's not that. I just don't want to hurt you," Bodie explained.

Doyle reached out and cupped his cheek. "You won't if I'm prepared."

"Is it what you want?" It was still something that didn't appeal to him, as far as being on the receiving end was concerned. But the idea of possessing Ray…

"You can't imagine how much, Bodie," Doyle replied quietly. "I've wanted this for so long…"

Bodie trembled as he slowly penetrated Doyle, unable to tell if it was from the sheer joy of their joining or from the strain of holding back. During the time they'd spent preparing Doyle for this, he'd lost some of the urgency, but now it had returned with a vengeance. Feeling exultant and powerful, he inched his way into the slick, hot sheath. Doyle was on all fours before him, the broad white back expanding and contracting as he panted. Bodie stopped, fearing he was causing pain.

The curly head immediately turned. "'M not made of glass, you know."

Bodie pressed forward until he could go no further, then pulling out, gave an experimental thrust. Doyle grunted.

"All right?" Bodie checked.

"I'll be happier when you start movin'," said Doyle pointedly.

Bodie gripped Doyle's hips and thrust once, twice…and then he was lost in a haze of thrusting desire, as Doyle shouted words of encouragement. He knew he was close, couldn't hold back, yet didn't want it to end. As he pistoned, sweat ran down his face, down his neck and chest, droplets falling onto the bare arse. He felt his balls slapping against Doyle's, heard Doyle's moans, felt Doyle pushing back onto him… Reaching under with his left hand, he found his lover hard and began to pump in rhythm was his own thrusts; the other hand reached up and managed grasp a tiny nub of nipple. In altering his position to administer to Ray, his angle of attack had adjusted slightly and now with each thrust, Doyle cried out.

The whole act of fucking Doyle was so erotic, Bodie couldn't have held back if his life had depended on it. He felt his balls tighten, the pressure build, Doyle cry out as a hot wetness jetted over the hand that held Doyle's prick, felt himself gripped rhythmically by his lover's orgasm and shouting 'Ray', came in glorious waves of release.

Slumping over Doyle's hot, sticky back, Bodie struggled to listen as the voice on the radio announced they'd been listening to Max Bruch's 1st violin concerto in G minor. He wanted to remember that, so he could go out and buy it as a momento of their first time together as lovers.

A few minutes later, when his breathing had calmed down, he glanced across the bed where he now lay, to Doyle beside him. Doyle looked… 'well-fucked', he realised with some amusement. Bloody hell! He'd just fucked his partner into next week and it was then, that the strangeness of it all hit him. "I can't believe we just did that."

"D'you regret it then?" Doyle asked, his insecurity clear as a shining beacon.

Bodie pushed himself up on to one elbow and leaning forward, kissed Doyle thoroughly. After a minute, he pulled back a few inches to answer. "You think I could regret the best sex I've ever had? No…" he corrected, " the best love-making I've ever had?"

"That good?" Doyle asked, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

"That good," Bodie confirmed.

And it was true, Bodie had just that minute realised. They had made love and it had been perfect; no awkwardness, no feelings that it was wrong or against his nature. The only thing he'd really been conscious of was the unfamiliarity of a male body - but even that hadn't seemed that odd, as it had been a body he already knew so well, just not so intimately.

"Question is, Ray, can I convince you to stay? Don't want you leaving CI5…leaving me."

"How long's this goin' to last, Bodie? How do I know you're not bein' bi-curious? Now you've found out what it's like, you might lose interest."

Bodie gazed down into wide, green, troubled eyes. "Because when we made love, I felt like I was coming home. This is it, here, with you. Never felt that way before about anyone, Ray. And while I'm about it, let's get one thing straight: you leave CI5, and I'm leaving with you. Right? So you may as well stay and do the job you were made for."

A look of hope appeared on Doyle's face as he sat up. "You really mean that, don't you? You'd give up the squad for me." There was wonder in his voice - Doyle was perhaps one of only two men alive who knew how much working for CI5 meant to him. Oh, he might want to leave next month, or next year, but right now, that was where he wanted to be.

"Yeah, I would if I had to."

"We'd have to if Cowley found out about us," said Doyle.

"Don't know how the old man would take it. We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Doyle grinned. "Meanwhile, he's given you three days off to look after your poorly partner. Feel up to it?"

"Don't feel up to anything right now," Bodie leered and waggled his eyebrows. "But give us five minutes…"

 

[finis]


End file.
